


In The Warden Commander's Study

by aetherio



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Light Angst, M/M, Mostly Fluff, Teasing, fluffy and then a bit of angst and then back to fluff and a hint of smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2018-07-12
Packaged: 2019-06-09 11:26:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15266484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aetherio/pseuds/aetherio
Summary: Zevran and Daylen get to talking and one thing leads to another.OR: Why Amell does NOT want his lover anywhere near the Joining.





	In The Warden Commander's Study

**Author's Note:**

> This is mostly self-indulgent, a bit of Zev/Warden for your thoughts.  
> Don't worry, there's a happy ending.
> 
> Thanks again to Annas307

“Ugh, when will they ever learn to _get over themselves_?” Daylen complained as he pushed open the door to his study.

“I must admit the Arls' arguments are tedious,” Zevran followed his lover through the door and closed it behind them, as Daylen went to light a fire in the hearth. “Truly, that aspect of politics is universal.”

“Tedious, circular, _impossible_ …” Daylen grumbled. “They’ve been at this for months. They seem to think they can wear me down through badgering me.”

“If they wanted to wear you out, there are much more efficient methods they could try. However, I would be forced to commit great acts of violence upon whoever made such an attempt, so perhaps it is better for their health if they do not,” Zevran said, drawing Daylen up from his crouch by the fire. “Come, _mi amor_. There are much more comfortable places to rest than on a hearth rug.”

Daylen nodded, and sat instead in one of the armchairs by the window. It was a peculiarity of his- whenever he had the choice he would sit somewhere he could see the sky. Too much stone all around stifled him. Given where his love had been raised, Zevran understood.

Daylen made himself comfortable, and Zevran joined him, reclining on his lover’s lap. “I take it they do not want to listen to reason then? A pity. You can be quite pleasant when others want to be reasonable.”

“I must be losing my silver tongue then,” Daylen growled, his arms wrapping around Zevran as he buried his face in the other’s shoulder. “Believe it or not, I actually prefer dealing with Darkspawn. Those I can just shoot lighting at until they’re corpses.”

Zevran hummed, running his fingers through Daylen’s hair. He could feel the tension in his love’s body easing just from this simple contact. From being near to _him_. A part of Zevran still marvelled that his Warden could draw such comfort from him, place such _trust_ in him. He doubted he would ever get used to it- or the feeling of warmth and love that blossomed in his chest every time the miracle occurred. “It would make diplomacy more difficult when those you are trying to negotiate with are corpses.” Zevran responded, not bothering to hide the amusement in his voice.

“At this point I’m not sure. I was more than tempted to blast that one bastard through the wall for the way he was looking at you…” Daylen met Zevran's eyes, one of his hands moving up to curl in his hair.

Zevran chuckled, and pressed a chaste kiss to Daylen's forehead. “As much as I appreciate the sentiment, _amor_ , you can’t kill everyone who has ever looked at me askance. That would mean the deaths of at least half the court of Fereldan, to start.”

“I don’t care. If I do nothing else, I am going to enforce a certain amount of tolerance. Given the stunts all those bastards pull they have absolutely _no right_ to disapprove of you.”

“You know, all those nobles likely wouldn’t have anywhere near as many objections to my presence if I were a Grey Warden.” Zevran joked.

Daylen stiffened beneath him, his love’s arms curling tighter around Zevran’s body- although whether for Amell's comfort or in some effort to protect him, Zevran wasn’t entirely sure. “No. That won’t…. that can’t happen, Zev. Don’t even think of it…” Daylen’s voice was strained, and his body had gone as taut as a bowstring.

Zevran pressed a hand over Daylen's heart. His pulse was rapid enough he could feel the drumming of the mage's heart through his robes. “No? Why should I not, _amor_? It is not as if I do not know what is required…” Zevran frowned, concern plain.

Daylen shook his head, “Zev…. Please. Don’t. Whatever else you do, don’t endure the Joining,” his eyes held a fiery desperation, even as he tightened his grip on Zevran’s hair. He nearly choked on his next words, “I’ve taken enough from you already, I won’t take anything else.”

“Oh _amor_ …” Zevran sighed. He raised his hand to cup Daylen’s face, thumb brushing over the other's cheekbone. His love leaned into the contact. “You have taken nothing from me that I have not willingly given. You need not fear so.”

“I know… I know… I just…” Daylen took a deep breath and continued in a rush, “You have a chance, Zev. You could live a long life- you’re free of the Crows now, and you have more than enough skill with a blade to protect yourself from any trouble that might find you. I know I shouldn’t, but…. I still fear for you. And I’m still afraid I’ll hurt you. If not through my magic, then through the Wardens. The Taint is already in me, I only have two decades left at best. Assuming I don’t get killed by darkspawn or from some sort of bureaucracy first. And I fear… I fear you joining your fate to mine, following me down this path. As long as you aren’t a Warden, you still have the choice I relinquished. And I will not see you trapped again if I can in any way prevent it.” Zevran felt Daylen’s hands slip from his hair and instead slide down his back, one staying at his shoulder and the other stopping near his waist as his lover tried to hold him closer. “Joining the Grey Wardens is a death sentence, Zev. It just takes a few decades to be carried out. I’d give the whole of Thedas to you, if I could; but I can’t stand aside and watch you throw your life away. Don’t ask me to, Zev. _Please_.”

“Shhh. Hush, _mi amor_. I would never ask that of you; you need not fear this,” Zevran held his love close, combing his fingers through Daylen's hair. " _Te amo,_ " he whispered. 

Daylen heaved a shuddering sigh of relief. “Thank the Maker,” he murmured, closing his eyes. He traced a pattern on the back of Zevran's shoulder, over and over.  _I love you._

Zevran leaned in and kissed him, soft and sweet. A promise. When he broke away, he said “You must understand something yourself,  _amado_. I do not care that your time is set- I am not going anywhere. I made my choice years ago, and I do not change my mind easily.”

“Don’t I know it.” Daylen cracked a small smile. “I’ve never known you to change your mind once you decide on something, my very stubborn assassin.”

Zevran laughed, resting his forehead against Daylen’s. “Says the man who’s first response to anyone telling him he shouldn’t do something is to attempt it out of spite.” 

“That just makes me contrary, not stubborn,” Daylen countered, laughing now himself. They stayed like that for a few minutes, until Daylen got a thoughtful look, leaning back in the chair.

“What is it, my dear Warden?” Zevran asked.

“I've thought of another, _very_ compelling reason you absolutely _should not_  become a Grey Warden,” Daylen said, with a most serious expression.

Zevran raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And what would this be? I must admit the armour would not exactly be flattering.”

“Nope. If you did join the Wardens, then technically speaking I could give you orders. And we _both_ know how well that would go,” Daylen deadpanned, but the mischievous twinkle in his eyes belied his tone.

Zevran felt a wicked smile steal over his features. “Oh, I don’t know. Some of your ‘commands’ are most enjoyable,” he shifted his hips so he was kneeling astride Daylen, their bodies perilously close together. He leaned forward, arms to either side of Daylen’s torso. “Especially when you use _that_ particular tone of voice…”

“Zev…” Daylen started, sentence trailing off with a groan as the Antivan shifted his hips. “Maker’s breath…”

“Or perhaps you are right. You trying to command me would go terribly, and destroy your reputation, when all that I have to do to distract you is look especially attractive.”

“So… _Maker_ , Zevran… pretty much all the time, then?” Daylen gasped, his hands skating down Zevran’s back. “You… Andraste's ashes, I don’t think it’s possible for you to _not_.”

“Hm. An excellent tactic, but flattery will only get you so far, _mi amor_. If you want any hope of achieving your goals, you must learn other ways to appease.” Zevran chuckled, undoing the ties on Daylen’s robes.

“It’s only… only flattery if you stretch the truth,” Daylen tried to stifle another moan when Zevran trailed a line of butterfly kisses along his jaw to nip at his ear. Daylen slipped his hands beneath the hem of Zevran’s shirt and dragged his nails down the other's back, sparks flickering from his fingers. At Zevran's pleased hiss, he smirked. “And I’m not.”

Zevran shivered as the sparks crackled over his skin, slightly breathless when he spoke. “Do not sell yourself short, _mi precioso_. However, I must not be distracting you as well as I ought if you still have the presence of mind for speech.” Zevran leaned in, kissing his love, and Daylen arched into him. Things would have gone quite well had a loud knock not sounded from the door to the Warden Commander’s study.

“Commander? Might I speak with you a moment?” Zevran was up almost immediately- he knew Daylen’s insistence on at least the image of propriety. (Something that would be completely shattered if anyone ever found out exactly what his Warden was willing, and eager, to do in the privacy of his bedchamber.) A few quick tugs and he was perched quite innocently on the arm of the chair.

Daylen himself was not quite so fast, a continuous stream of curses flowing from him as he tried to set his robes to rights, the hot flush of arousal almost painfully obvious on his cheeks.

“I would suggest that you not curse in quite so vehement a manner,  _mi querido_. Imagine what it would do to your calm and stoic image if your subordinates learned what a mouth you have.” Zevran chuckled, running a hand through his lover’s hair to tame the worst of the disorder.

Daylen took a deep breath, steeling himself. “We will continue this…. discussion later. At length,” he promised, before turning to the door and calling out a frustrated “Come in.”


End file.
